


children of a martyr

by UnholyPinecone



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Character Study, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Loss of Parent(s), Non-Consensual Kissing, Not A Fix-It, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Endgame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-12 13:38:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19133122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnholyPinecone/pseuds/UnholyPinecone
Summary: morgan stark learns at a very young age that there are downsides to being a child prodigy.(or: the world moves on without tony stark while morgan can never forget.)





	children of a martyr

I.

Morgan Stark never forgets anything. She inherited that from her father.

When she was three years old, she cried when her mother was hissing at her dad about a Steve Rogers, remembering an argument that she had heard while her mom was eight months pregnant with her.

Everything was distorted and blurry, but it was unpleasant, and when daddy tucked her into her bed with an apology of being too loud and that nothing happened, she asked who Steve Rogers was and why they were still fighting about him after this long.

Tony's expression changed then, and he laughs with a tightness in his throat.

"Where did you hear that from, squirt?"

"A long time ago."

Tony sighed then, and he sat on the edge of her bed. He looked very tired, even though she knows he and mom doesn't have a bedtime like she does.

"What else do you remember?"

"Everything." Morgan says. She remembers him telling her how much he loved her in blurry fragments over snippets of gunfire and the types of television she knows she's not allowed to watch yet.

"You can't tell anyone about this, okay, Morgan?" He said her name, which meant that this was über important. "Not even mom."

"Why not?"

Her dad closed his eyes and held her close for a few moments.

"Cause you're exactly like me." He explains. "It's... Difficult, when you're like me."

"But why can't I tell mom?"

He looks at her like he's sorry. And not the fake sorry of him eating all the fudge but ended up getting her her favourite cake from her favourite bakery instead. A real sorry whenever he sees an empty playground or took her to her school and met all five of her classmates.

"Because you're smart." He says, "And when people are smart, they get treated very differently—"

"Is that why you told mom you didn't want me to be like you when I grew up?"

She can see something like fear in her father's eyes. Fear and hurt and a tinge of regret, no doubt remembering the conversation two years and ten months and four days ago. The day he found out that he's going to have a daughter from the ultrasound and he's telling his wife how excited he is and how she's the most wonderful person in the world and how he hopes his daughter is _nothing_ like him.

"Just promise this stays between us." He kisses her on the head. "This world doesn't need heroes, baby, not anymore."

"But aren't you a hero, daddy?"

"Nah." Tony says, running his fingers through her hair. "I'm just very very smart."

"You'll always be my hero though." Morgan says, because she had a feeling that it was what she was supposed to say.

Her dad holds her for a long time, and she wonders if that was what she was really supposed to say when she felt tears on the back of her pajamas.

 

II.

She goes to her new school, and all she could think of was how crowded it was.

"You'll love it here, Mor." Happy says, and he hands her her bag and her lunch. "You'll get to make a lot of new friends, and you'll be so happy here."

"Mmhm." Morgan looks around. Did people always smell this bad? _You don't need to be a smartass._ She can almost hear her dad say. _You don't need to be smart._

Happy has tears in his eyes. He's the one taking care of her now. Her mom's too busy working, and she supposed she doesn't have much time for her now. There was always a disconnect between her and her mom. She knows her mom's smart. Just not _her_ smart, just not _dad_ smart. And she doesn't quite know what to say around mom who's always too serious and too sad.

She hasn't heard mom laugh since.

"It's okay, Happy." She's embracing him because it makes people feel better. She's read it in one of dad's psychology books. The only picture books they have in the house were her old ones from before she was three, and animal encyclopedias or art history textbooks. Sometimes she sees brains drawn in between pages, but diagrams don't count. "Pick me up later, okay?"

He sniffles and he nods. He's taking out a handkerchief from his chest pocket and blowing his nose.

She turns away from him and enters the classroom. She doesn't look back.

 

III.

School is boring. She's already learned all this stuff from the books that her dad left, with some assistance from FRIDAY on some of the more difficult words.

Her teachers love her because she's quiet and she's smart and she comes from a rich family. She doesn't ever participate in class.

There's another guy named Morgan in her class, and she hated it in the beginning because people always get them confused.

Though she gets to keep the name Morgan. Her classmates call not-Morgan by his last name, Carter. Even if it's because everyone is afraid that saying the word "Stark" will trigger her PTSD. Or that some respect has to be attached to the name. Or something.

Not-Morgan is surprisingly easy to get along with. Which also means he's a doormat that Morgan steps over constantly. Pretty soon they're best friends and Morgan is inviting him over to her house. Happy basically lives there now, and they stay outside because she doesn't want him fussing over her.

They become best friends for years and honestly, Carter isn't bad. He's got a cleverness to him that others don't appreciate and he's got a sensitivity to him that makes him a great artist. The people that he draws on his sketchpad are all animated and with character details that makes them feel like real people.

Unlike Morgan, Carter really like people. So it shouldn't surprise her when he tells her that he likes her.

They're in her tent, the one that her dad built for her once a long time ago and she's still getting used to another person in there with her when Carter asks, "hey do you want to kiss?"

Morgan stares at him. "Why?"

"It's just—" He's stuttering again, and blushing, and Morgan finds it mildly annoying. "I really really like you!"

"Of course you do, we're friends." Morgan says. "Now come on, blue or white?" She'd really much like to get back to building the little city that they've made out of Legos. She knows that Carter likes to play pretend with heroes and princesses and pirates but that was her when she's four. She's nine now, and she doesn't like to play those games.

"No—" Carter can't take a hint it seems, and his blue eyes are staring right at her with an intensity that she doesn't know where he gets it from. "I really really like you, Morgan Stark, and I want to be more than friends."

"We're nine, Carter." Morgan says, "You don't even know how to kiss."

He kisses her then, and she pulls away quickly. She feels nothing other than a mild revulsion. She doesn't feel anything other than a mild sense of betrayal and how much she wants to talk to her dad.

She feels trapped because everyone treats her like she's stupid because she's a girl and her dad's never taught her how to be smart around people.

Morgan leaves the tent then and doesn't ever go back to it. She doesn't talk to Carter or invite him over after that.

 

IV.

Dr. Banner is one of the few people that she genuinely likes and respects. He's smart and his steps are always too heavy and loud but walking beside him meant people gave them a wide berth and that is what makes her spend time at the Avengers tower more and more.

Peter's there sometimes. She used to try to call him Uncle Peter because that's what she called all the Avengers (Uncle Clint, Uncle Thor, Uncle Bruce for a while before she learned how to respect a doctorate—). It quickly stopped when he felt it was too awkward.

"I'm only like, ten years older than you." His hair's not as messy as you'd think from being in a suit, and it falls around his face in a medium-length almost-curl that emphasizes how young he is compared to others.

"Okay." She says, and vaguely registers his math to be wrong. Because he's twenty and she's eleven and she thinks that Spider-Man is a little stupid but Peter Parker— the one that comes to her house for family dinners and makes her mom and Happy laugh the way that dad used to— is someone that she wants to be around more with.

"What brings you here?" Peter grins, bouncing on the heels of his feet like a boy her age. "I thought you're supposed to be at school."

"I'm suspended." She says, "I sold too many drugs."

Peter laughs, and she appreciates that. No one laughs at her jokes.

"Uh, it's bring-your-daughter-to-work day." Dr. Banner explains. Everyone gets a little quiet at that, much to her annoyance. Tony Stark is revered as a hero, but at eleven, he's a taboo subject around her. "I thought she might want to see her dad's old lab."

She did. It's very much dad. Everything's in that messy but clean way that happens when you have too many things on your mind and not enough hands to know what to do with it. His workshop at home's very much the same, and she's long since learned how to navigate it.

"And how did you find that?" Peter asks, and she likes how he's never asked adults around her about how she was and actually, you know, treats her like a human being instead of a poor girl whose dad died a martyr.

"Good." She says.

"She's found a bunch of Tony's old projects that I couldn't find before." Dr. Banner grins, patting her on the shoulder as she tries not to gasp at how much strength he's using. "She's smarter than she lets on."

Sometimes she thinks Dr. Banner can see through her. And she keeps to her dad's code. _Stay smart, stay hidden, never be a hero._

 

V.

If she thinks that Dr. Banner can see through her sometimes, she _knows_ that Dr. Strange knows.

He rarely appears in the Avenger's tower, and he's always talking about being the Sorcerer Supreme and all the magic mumbo-jumbo. She thinks that it's very unscientific and that he should really find a hobby.

She doesn't think he's a real doctor, so she asks.

"Why do they call you doctor?"

He gives her an awkward smile because most Avengers (especially the ones who's killed more people and seen more shit) don't know how to talk to children.

"I used to be one." He says, "I used to be a neurosurgeon."

"Does being Sorcerer Supreme pay more than being a neurosurgeon?"

He laughs at that, and he shakes his head. "No, but it's more rewarding."

"How?" Morgan frowns, "You're saving people, you're respected, and no one thinks you're a psycho with a cape."

His cape flutters a little, like it's offended. Considering that she's the daughter of Iron Man, she still doesn't think that clothing items should be sentient.

He raises an eyebrow.

"You really hate me, don't you?"

Dr. Banner calls her over to talk about why the particle accelerator isn't working, and she sticks her tongue out at him, turning to leave.

He stops her.

"Morgan." He says, and he looks like he's about to apologize for something, or tell her some life advice that she doesn't need when he sees the expression on her face and wisely decides to shut up.

"Dr. Strange."

He nods, "Miss Stark."

And as Morgan fixes the crystals in the particle accelerator, she considers the possibility that the Sorcerer Supreme might not be a hack, after all.

 

VI.

High school is somehow worse than elementary and middle school combined. Being a girl meant that guys are paying more attention to her than ever before. She's the prettiest she's ever been and she has friends that talk to her about boy problems and shop with her— but none that she would talk to.

Carter asks her out to the Homecoming dance over text and she says no.

Peter's the one who takes her to her Homecoming dance.

Well, she's the one forced to take her. She lied and said that her date will meet her there (even if she doesn't have one). But she's quite certain that the lack of a date will only make Happy and/or her mother more concerned about her socialization issues.

Peter offers, of course, even though it's a Friday night and he should really be being Spider-Man, he tells her that, "I'm yours for fifteen minutes" and for a brief minute she feels special.

He's driving one of her dad's old cars that he left at the Avengers tower, in fact, it's the very same Audi he drove out that morning. He wears glasses now, sometimes. He calls them "reading glasses" but most of their acquaintances know it was her dad's and it's connected to Friday.

She's sixteen, and he's twenty-five, and Peter's reminiscing about his high school days when he was just a friendly neighbourhood Spiderman.

"Did I ever tell you about my Homecoming dance?" Peter asks, and he did. The last time he told that story to her was one year, two months, and seventeen days ago when he was trying to get her to be excited for high school. He failed, spectacularly, but she appreciated the effort.

"I had this crush on this senior girl, Liz, for what felt like forever—" _And you ruined her life,_ Morgan finished for him. But she doesn't say it out loud. She doesn't say a lot of things out loud. "And she's great, I got her corsage and showed up at her door. And who do I see?"

_The worst possible person—_

"The worst possible person that can be on the other side of that door, the Vulture. You should have seen the way he looked at me. He held a knife while giving me the dad talk! It was insane!"

She's pretty certain he's kind of on a break with MJ right now. Their Instagram stories haven't been synced together with ice cream photos and selfies for two weeks.

"He finds out that I'm Spiderman, and tells me to go to the Homecoming dance. Obviously I can't do that, so—"

"Turn here, it's faster."

Peter doesn't think and turns the wheel to her direction. They stop at a dead end. He pauses. The glasses has GPS that's recalculating the route and she's certain it's telling him to take an U-turn.

"Mor, why—"

"Shut up." Quick, she takes the glasses off of him and presses her lips to him in a clumsy and rushed way. As expected, he pushes her away.

He's sputtering and being flustered (not in the way she wants him to) and there's a mildly horrified expression on his face. It doesn't take an über genius to know that she's just been rejected.

"What the hell! Mor— You can't just—"

"Alright, you can take me to the dance now."

"Mor—"

She's trying very hard not to cry, and she looks up at the smooth car ceiling.

"Mor, we need to talk about this."

"We did."

"When?"

"Just now."

"Mor, no, you can't just—"

And that pisses her off.

"Do you ever shut up, Peter?!" Morgan hisses, "You're always going on about this and that, about responsibility and what you have to do and what you can't do and what you need to do. Do you ever just shut the _fuck_ up?!"

His mouth is agape in shock.

"Just take me to the dance." She says.

He stares out the front window of the car like it's going to give him answers, and he looks like he's going to talk more. Morgan prays that if there is a God, please give her strength not to kill Peter Parker.

"Mor, I know you're still hurting—" Peter says, and she feels her patience wearing thin. "I miss him too. I still miss him. And you're young, you're figuring out all of this—"

"Oh fuck this." Morgan steps out of the car, her black pumps clicking on the black asphalt.

"Morgan!" As expected, he chases after her, and she whirls on him.

"He was my dad, Peter!" She hisses, "Not yours! He was Iron Man, not Spider-Man the first. And he killed himself! He killed himself so that he can kill an army of freak alien invaders from another timeline! Those are the facts, Peter, and just because he died and you happened to be there doesn't mean you can tell me what to do or what to think. You don't get to tell me what I get to feel and what I don't get to feel. You don't get to tell me what I should do with my life or how I should be happy. You don't know hurt. No one does! You have your little girlfriend and your Spider-Man and Avengers and Nick Fury calling your cell being so eager to replace my dad— Everyone's went on with their lives and it's like I'm the only one— I'm the only one who still remembers— So don't try to—"

"I'm not—"

"Don't fucking start!" She's crying now, and she's furious that she's crying and it only makes her cry more. And she could only say, "it's not fair" before he finally stops standing there awkwardly and hugs her.

His arms are steel around her and he makes her feel safe and she's so so tired and so heartbroken because she's the prettiest she's ever been and she's still rejected by Peter Parker. She's crying and he's shushing her like he's trying to shush a farm animal and all she could think of was how Clint Barton got to go home to his family and how she's a terrible person for cursing Cooper, Lila, and Nathaniel for getting a dad while she doesn't.

"I'm sorry," Peter says, and that's the most ridiculous thing she's ever heard. "I love you so much, Mor. We all love you so much. I'm so sorry."

And it's nothing she hasn't heard before. There's a certain script that people adhere to for funerals and grieving people and it's all along the lines of _I'm sorry for your loss_ and _my sincerest condolences_ and who can forget— _he wouldn't want to see you like this._

But it's different, with Peter.

As Peter continues to whisper these sweet genuine nothings into her ear in this all-too-crowded world that always made her feel too alone, strangely, she feels heard. Oddly, she feels loved.

Somehow, she feels like she's come home.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading my little short morgan character study! i wanted to examine a father/daughter relationship where morgan is just...too much like tony for her own good. honestly i love myself some fix-its but i like my writing like i like my fries: heavily salted with the tears of children.
> 
> comments turn my depresso into espressos! <3


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